Warfare & Deception
by borderlandtvshow
Summary: Ziva David. The most realistic depiction of the three years with respect to canon events. For Ziva fans.
1. Tactical Dispositions

**_A/N: You think an Israeli former Mossad officer wouldn't know about a terrorist attack involving her death? And, she would hide her best friend's child for years because she "didn't want to disrupt" his life? Guys, its Israel. There is so much more than missed calls here. Geo-politics and family blood create tension… References to Sun Tzu's "The Art of War"._**

 _IV. Tactical Dispositions: The good fighters of old first put themselves beyond the possibility of defeat, and they waited for an opportunity of defeating the enemy._

Bam! You're dead. Well, you're supposed to be dead. But…Are you really gone? Question: Once the soul leaves the body, are you in Heaven? Or, is there a grey zone? And, in this dead space are you by yourself, stumbling into a complete whiteout? Its funny how both light and dark can act as an impenetrable force that work against you. One blinds while the other casts you out into nothingness.

You can't turn it off whenever you need it to. It comes back to haunt you and your stupid feeble little mind. Too many years have passed for somebody, somewhere to care about you. Oh wait, what happened three years ago? A one night stand turns into more than conversation in a temporary safe space two people create for themselves.

"I am one of those people."

She used to scream out at night, clenching her stomach. It was all in an effort to protect _her._ She went under in-patient services at her local hospital. It was normal for a woman like her to cast out her manufactured demons with a smooth cocktail of anti-psychotics and a routine visit with a doctor.

She used to be ill in the mind; after he left it only got worse. It turns out post-traumatic stress isn't an outlet you switch off, it is a slow manifestation of fear and experience. As they blend together, it could be years before you show any signs.

The hurt was already engrained in her and the only thing that kept her from committing one last act of horror (to herself) was the small kick from a small lifeform growing in her uterus. The doctor explained that she _did deserve the baby. And "you can repent for your sins, by healing yourself and loving that little child"._

 _"_ _But-"_

 _"_ _No buts!"_

And so it began, month 5 is when she picked up the phone to call Gibbs. _A surrogate father to her; a man whose scent of saw dust and bourbon grew so well on her._

But as soon as she dialed the number, ready to find a little happiness in his voice, another call came in. No good news. But one massive announcement was soon to change her life and her plans.

There is always someone one step, two steps, three steps ahead of you. If you're smart you cover your valuables, make yourself a 24/7 alarm, and get the hell out.

The enemy. Could be anyone. Alert the one person closest to you. Fine. Check.

 _Ponder and deliberate before you make a move._

Those three years were mind numbing and tricky. Her mission was to hide in plain sight. She could only visit with her child every now and then, but when she could, they both made the best of it.

In the government records she lived in the farmhouse.

In the government records she was not a mother.

In the government records, she still worked as a Mossad officer, the daughter of a dead man who pissed off a lot of Egyptians, Palestinians, Syrians, and Iranians.

So, it would be fair to say if they couldn't have killed Eli David, his daughter would suffice their blood lust. It was more than a straight kill, it was every pot of honey he had his snippy hands in: oil, gas, gold, diamonds, and nuclear deals from foreign countries. Iran had one with the United States, great, a kumbaya moment with one side of the deal waiting to stab you in the back.

Iran. She was being targeted. Until than one night in mid-May. The door to her apartment was kicked down and two men approached her from behind. One thing they hadn't prepared for was the two AR-15's in both her hands. Swiftly she gunned them down and stood over their dirty corpses. For all the time she wasted being away from her daughter to protect her, for all the running, she spit on both of them. When she positioned herself next to the door, waiting for a third militant, she was surprised by how quick he came through the door.

"Get down!" She saw him reach for his holster. "Don't even think about."

"You're making a mistake, Miss David." The unknown man said, facing away from her. He got on his knees and faced down towards the floor.

She laughs because anyone making any attempt at scaring her at this point in time is such a waste of breath. "The only mistake I have ever made is prolonging this for this long." She hears him laugh to himself, "Call in and tell him, whoever he is, that I have been killed."

"I would be lying. _Lying is a sin_." Such a smugness to his tone.

"And killing an innocent is not?" She hands him his phone, "Call!"

"You are not innocent. You deserve to die."

She has had enough time wasted. She kicks him over and put the cold end of her gun to his head. "Call. I will not ask again."

He calls in and tells the man on the other end that the job had been completed. "My final instruction was to burn you to ash."

She smiles at the man from the side, "Thank you for letting me know." She clocks her gun again. This makes him nervous.

"You're going to shoot me, aren't you?"

"No."

"You know if you let me go, I'll make sure you actually die. You stupid whore." He spits out.

She bends down to him, smirks, and reaches in her back pocket for a 5" blade. He can only see for a moment before he gasps for air. He falls over in his own pool of blood. It keeps gushing out. She takes the blade out from his carotid artery, and wipes it off of the man's shirt.

"I was going to say, I'm going to slice you like the pig you are." As she straightens herself, "Now, where's my phone?" She then kicks him to his side and reaches for the device in his hand. "Ah! There it is."

In May, his life turned upside down, the summer seemed to have gotten better. In the fall, he found happiness again in Paris with another little lady, whose blood had him written in it.

In May, she began the resolution process of her journey. She didn't want to come out of hiding too soon to spark another match and rock the cradle. Orli followed through on her promises; so she had to be smart if she wanted to see her daughter again.

 _"_ _Ziva, you are prepared for this?"_

 _"_ _I could not be any more prepared. Tell him nothing."_

 _"_ _I won't. The wisest choice is not always the easiest one."_

Orli informed her through secure correspondence, that DiNozzo had accepted the child. In that moment, she could breathe a breath of relief. It was his anyways. And no it couldn't be anyone else's. The only other man since Somalia she had any relations with was Ray from the CIA. She couldn't think of accepting another man besides Tony; any other person touching her now made her nauseous.

The summer, she moved around until she got in the south of France. She received helpful intel from the region that Tony and Tali had moved to a suburb of Paris.

He had only partially forgotten her death, but Tali hadn't. Occasionally she cried out an "imma" and he would tear apart inside by the sound.

On a cold, rainy November night, when he and his daughter were in the middle of an Indiana Jones movie, Tony got a knock at his door. When he opened it up, no one was there. He peeked out his doorway, then the sound of a crumple came from beneath his feet. He removed his foot and leant over to pick up the note; with what it read his breath hitched:

 _All warfare is based on deception._

 _Tony- I am not dead._

 _Tomorrow, Noon at the first place you think of._


	2. To Be Victorious

Tali stirred in her stroller, taking her time on a piece of animal cracker. Tony had his hands tightly gripped on the handlebar, keeping his eyes wide open. He wasn't sure if this was the place she thought he would think of when she wrote the note...but it was nearly impossible to forget this place. The cafe; it was worth a shot.

What he didn't know was that he was being watched. He had been watched very carefully for the past month. She had to watch from afar because of the little girl he was now attached to. She felt so much envy for him; how he was able to feed her, brush her hair, talk to her, and how she would listen. But most importantly, the ability for her only daughter to trust him was liked how Tali trusted her father and how he loved her; but it bothered her how they could do all that _without_ her.

 _When the opportunity presents itself, take it._

Tony became distracted with the little girl, so she thought it would be the perfect opportunity to walk over and sit down in front of him. With the sound of the chair in front of him being pulled back, he slowly looked over for the person he had been waiting for. He could not formulate the right words, he could not even figure out if he should be frustrated, happy, rejoicing, or pissed off. So, he chose to remain silent and waited on her to speak...or whisper, or hell, even send a smoke signal.

"Tony." She spoke in the straightest face possible. Tali looked over at the familiar voice. The voice she hadn't heard in six months. The voice she had hoped to hear again. With one glance she knew who it was; "imma?" her small voice mustered.

Ziva no longer scrutinized his face, gearing for some response from him. She looked down to her daughter in the stroller. The first thing she noticed was the golden star that delicately hung above her heart, and then she noticed how she was dressed: black thick leggings and an olive green dress with a purple coat. _This is how Anthony DiNozzo dresses a little girl. My daughter. She looks beautiful._ Maybe she underestimated him. A bit of guilt made its way up her torso and into her neck.

Before she could get a word in, Tony interrupted her thoughts. "She's been asking about you. Wondering where you were.." His tone hinted at a long period of sadness.

Her eyes were watering up, gesturing to the stroller "Can I-?"

"She _is_ yours." He smiled while picking Tali up from her seat and placing her on the pavement. She waddled over to Ziva, never removing her deep smile on her face. They embraced in a warm hug lasting a minute or more. God, how she missed her. How she missed her sanity for so long. He noticed the emotional strain that played on her face. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt them.

 _Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win._

He didn't want to push her. He would get answers, eventually. But he knew he had to get over himself. This child meant more to her than him...at least right now. This child meant more to him than her. At least they could agree on something (even if it went unspoken). A little chat ensued but not for too long because Tony asked if Ziva would like to come over to see some of Talia's artwork she made at her dayschool. This was his way of casting an olive branch to this woman.

While she had Tali on her lap, now resting her head in the curve of her mother's neck, Tony and her began to speak...really get down to the root of the main problem.

"But you're supposed to be dead. The farmhouse…" He rubbed his temple, trying to erase any trace of confusion and disbelief.

"Well, did they find a body?" She knew the answer. _No they had not found the body. There was no body to be found. Diversion._

"I mean, Mossad confirmed you.." Suddenly it dawns on him that he was dealing with an outlet of duplicity. They had to be in order to get the job (whatever it was) done.

One side of her mouth lifted upwards, forming a half-smile. There was so much to tell him if he really wanted to know (and understand) her situation and the journey. "Uh huh."

They don't necessarily trust each other yet.

But it is a start.

She is meeting an old 'associate' at The General Directorate for External Security, the DGSE tomorrow afternoon. Of course, he doesn't need to know about it, at least not yet.


	3. Then You Must Fight

**I don't know how many chapters this will be. Criticize me (kindly) in the review box. Thanks-a-bunch-o! ~T**

 **A/N: Who else has to separate the actors from the characters in order to read/write fanfiction?**

 _If fighting is sure to result in victory, then you must fight._

The night air chilled every bit of her bone, the ringing in her ears had not ceased yet. "Who do you work for?" Her voice elevated, heavy in a woman's ear. This woman who had been following her for the past 10 blocks. Ziva had her in a chokehold from behind and a .45 caliber to her back. A sidearm for the purpose of accuracy wasn't necessarily needed, all she needed to carry was a weapon that rang out a good knockout punch.

She dragged her into a dark alley, the sun had already disappeared.

"No one! I swear I don't work for anyone." The lady begged by a staggered voice, Ziva's arm was cutting off her air supply so the sound coming from her was barely above a whisper.

Ziva reached into the woman's pocket and found a wad of cash, Marlboro's, and a list of various names and her name was listed. "You lie." She laughed, holding up the list in front of the woman's face.

"I.." She dropped the act then immediately punched Ziva in the abdomen with her elbow. Ziva's gun slid across the pavement. She would surely die if she did not react. One second, two seconds...she reached for the bottom of her military boot and unlatched a 8" steel claw that cleanly slit the militant in the chest.

The woman looked down to her chest and touched her fingertips to her wound; surely fatal, Ziva retreated her blade from the woman, then stepped back to give her the time to process while her mouth hung open until she dropped to the concrete, staining it with warm redness.

Earlier that day, she "visited" with a few old comrades that worked in the French intelligence agency. Their titles unknown. But, they did provide help in her transition to Western Europe. She thought about going back to the United States, but her daughter has made up her mind to stay in France.

 _Thus, what is of supreme importance in war is to attack the enemy's strategy._

Much like this dead, bloody woman at her feet; she, too, had a is too precious to interrogate. In the period of two weeks, before she made her status known to Tony, she had compiled threats west of the Rhine and north of the Danube. She ran away from murder, feeling so much regret for the fathers she had taken away from their families. "But, this is a new beginning", she says to herself. She must do what is necessary. This is not for her; this is for her daughter.

She spotted and targeted 5 men and women on the list, as a passerby she would use the tip of her umbrella to stick ricin into their arm or back of their calf. The tip was so sharp and too small to notice that they had been given 36-72 hours to live the rest of their skewed life. The last 3 people on the list "mysteriously" died of carbon monoxide poisoning.

The woman that had been following her was one of those people who had been injected with ricon. Her phone was in her back pocket, Ziva lifted it out with careful hands and saw that she had been in contact with another dead man:

 _You follow her. You know what to do_

 _Ok._

Another text came in right when she scrolled through today's conversation:

 _Is it done?_

Ziva looked down to the body, the one who had wanted to kill her a few moments ago. "Complete this."

She carefully typed away, _Yes._

 _Good. Khodahafez._

If her calculations were right, the man who texted back should be dead the day after around noon. Her concern was not with him, nor any man or woman seeking vengeance, it is with her deepest desires. Her own needs.

She needed to feel safe again. No, she could defend herself with her hands and her acquired trade skills, but emotionally safe in an asylum of her own life? She hadn't felt that in years.

But she wanted to.

Oh, _God_ , she wanted to.

" _That door closed a long time ago."_

" _It was a door in which I had lost part of myself, and then she showed up and….then my life had another purpose. I was all that she had. All that she could physically hold onto…"_

 _All of the fighting, where does it lead to? Where does this heartache fly away and land with someone else. There is so much weariness; so much to the extent where he didn't know how much hope he could get back._

" _I know, Tony."_

She made plans tonight with her baby and her…. _uh, friend...no, old friend. I hope we can come to a resolution and make peace with ourselves and eachother._ She takes a deep breath as the train pulls up to her platform taking her to the outer portion of the 15th district.


	4. A Beautiful Thought

_There is nothing more difficult than watching someone you love slowly deteriorate into a bundle of cut cords._ She saw her father struggle with the death of her older sister. She saw the slow mental parasites circulate around Ari until he died by the hand of someone who loved him. Suddenly, and all too fast, she was the one who short-circuited. So, she decided to run away from the one who loved her _who trekked through the desert to come to her rescue._ She didn't want to him to see her like that. Who would.

But she recovered, she built up her confidence, her antidote to pain was the new found focus on the new mission: to give life to the defenseless growing inside her. She could no longer be too introspective, she must crush those shadows of the past and then look to the future. Talia saved her mother's life even before she took her first breath.

And then, one day a few months before the tiny infant cries, there were no shadows of her past, but projections of this future. And then, there was the call that caused new wires to be cut and plans to be rerouted to an even further future. The world froze and melted and froze again all in one moment.

 _No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man._

Now, they stand a few feet from each other. Only after 35 months. They can see each action and reaction. She can see his jawline clench. He can see her eyebrows crinkle. It is real.

Throughout the dinner, both Tony and Ziva spoke only on easy topics. Anything of real substance would be too risky. Tony went along with it because he didn't want to go through the peril of seeing her jet away again. She's a flight risk.

But he has to bring it up as soon as Ziva walks out from Tali's bedroom.

She notices him, looking into his glass, twirling the two ice cubes. He glances up at her and back to his glass. "When were you going to tell me."

Here it is. "I was." A cold sweat flushes through her, of all the things she had done to get herself before Tony, this was it and it felt even more dangerous.

He walks to the couch and sits in the middle, with his eyes focused on the hardwood floor. "I'm not going to get mad. I just want to know." He doesn't want to cry, but he desperately wants to know the truth. Whatever the truth was, he could handle it.

 _One of the most beautiful qualities of true friendship is to understand and to be understood._

So, she tells him. She tells him everything.

 _"And then what?"_ His eyes full of concern, on the edge of his seat.

"I fought. I wanted to jump on a plane, a bus, a boat, whatever to get her to you." She breaths, begging Tony to understand. "I. I only saw her when it was safe." She pauses, "It almost was never safe."

"So this is a new experience for you, too, huh." He's thinking out loud.

"I was hoping to have you with me through it all. You and Tali."

"Well," He smiles at the woman. "I'm here, Ziva."

She blinks, "I know."

 _"I'm here for you."_

The clock became 10, then 11, then it hit midnight. A new day.

She commented how late it was getting, maybe this was an excuse to leave. Maybe an excuse to stay.

"Ziva."

"Yes, Tony?"

"We're glad you're here." Be honest. " _I'm_ glad you're here."

She doesn't have to say anything, before she knows it, she is being wrapped in his arms. It's scary at first, but how he felt brought so much needed peace, she forget who she thought she had to be: a resilient fighter in the midst of battle; and now she got a glimpse at who she will be: a person, a human.

He whimpers into her hair about how much he has missed her.

"To be honest…" she starts to speak but clamps her mouth shut to prevent a long monologue to the man in front of her. "Time has never been on our side, Tony." Her eyes closed at his name. Watery residue rested on her bottom lid. "I am sorry."

"No." He confessed. "No, it hasn't"

"I do not know how we can-" She stumbles her words, "Just-"

The walls became darker, the room got smaller, and the sound of silence became too loud to bare.

"Ziva", He reaches for the black and white photograph on the counter and handed it to her, force in his voice, "You look at that photo and tell me you weren't thinking of us when you packed it." She tries to fade away by turning her focus on anything else. He stops her by placing one of hands around her wrist.

He could tell her that his devotion is to her daughter not to his job. He could tell her that even if their friction between them centered on feelings of betrayal and deceit. But, there are some things, he thinks, he didn't necessarily need to say.

"I want you to stay." So much meaning in those words. He meant forever, with him and with Tali; she had to. Then he clarifies for the sake of the late hour, "I have an extra bedroom, across the hall from Tali. Dad uses it when he visits…"

She ponders the thought of sleeping under the same roof as him.

"Are you sure? I would not want to intrude." She does not show it, but she's ecstatic at the idea.

He responds without thinking, "That is the last thing you would be doing." A smile crosses his face.

They spoke softly in respect to their sleeping daughter in the other room, down the hall.

"Thank you, Tony." A small smile tugs at her lips.

"No problem." He's about to turn to go to his room, "Uh, Ziva."

"Yes?" She answers with a pillow under her arm.

"You stick around." He wants to make sure she'll be around when he wakes up. "I make some pretty awesome animal faced pancakes. Tali loves 'em."

 _Breakfast with her daughter?_ She chuckles at the thought of Tony _cooking for a 2 year old._ It's a beautiful thought she's going to hold onto until she falls asleep. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

They say goodnight. There is no gun fire. No explosions. No pain. No unexpected getaways. There is only the sound of muffled snoring coming from a man down the hall, the blue light of a rotating nightlight from a child's room, and a bundle of dreams she's hoping to turn into realities. Starting soon. Starting tomorrow.

 **A/N 2 Heraclitus and Seneca quotes used.**


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